From Zero
by saiphyr
Summary: [Vegeta/Bulma] After a decade-long exile, Vegeta returns to claim his throne, only to find his father standing in the way. Denied his birthright, he decides to secretly join the ranks of the king's forces, where he becomes entangled with two souls - a gifted third-class fighter and a beautiful blue-haired scientist. Together the three must survive or watch their future slip away.
1. Relapse

**A/N: This fic is loosely based off the Korean drama series "Hwarang" which continues to inspire me to write with its potent blend of character development, action, intrigue, and romance.**

 **Please note that this is a Vegeta-sei AU, so some canon events/relationships have been changed in order to fit the plot line. Pairings will be Vegeta/Bulma, some Goku/Bulma, and Goku/Chi-Chi, and other members of the DBZ cast will be molded into this story as well. Characters are NOT involved or related unless stated otherwise (example: Bulma is not related to Trunks, etc.)**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

 _From the throne of Vegeta-sei,_

 _Raditz,_

 _It is with a heavy heart that I bequeath care of my only surviving son, Vegeta, to you._

 _Though you may be born of a lower class, I believe you are the type of warrior that the Prince requires. I have often seen the way you watch my son from across the courtyard whilst he trains with the servants. You are loyal to him like a brother, and there is none other I can trust to look after him._

 _During these harsh times, I have come to the conclusion that Vegeta is no longer safe in the capital, thus he is being exiled for his safety. Vegeta-sei is changing too quickly for my tastes, and reinforcing the the class system will only prevent civil war, but not unrest. I cannot afford to lose another son to those who hunger for power. The chosen son of Vegeta-sei must survive his childhood if there is any hope for the future of our race._

 _I will always cherish my son, but the narrow defeat of Frieza has left me cold and the death of Tarble has deepened my resolve._

 _As he is now, Vegeta is too young to succeed me, and I fear that he will become far too weak to take his rightful throne under the current circumstances. You must protect him with your life, care for him as a brother, and remind him of the life I dream for him._

 _Raditz, Son of Bardock, you are hereby under royal decree to abandon your family, your former life, and devote yourself to the servitude of the Prince until which time I deem him ready to claim his birthright._

 _\- His Majesty, King Vegeta_

* * *

 **Ten years later**

 **The Outskirts of the Third-Class Faction**

The twin suns were high upon the horizon of Vegeta-sei, casting their strong gaze upon the nearly barren desert. At this time of day, most third-class citizens were inside their modest homes avoiding the stifling heat, the exception being a group of ragged Saiyan men, each with a stern scowl on their filth-covered faces.

The peasants waited anxiously for the tall man across the dusty plain to make his move, but the Saiyan stood his ground.

"Aww, guys, do you really wanna do this right now?" Goku asked the trio, shielding his eyes from the bright light above. Sweat rolled down his face and peaked over his angled jaw, dropping to the parched dirt below. "I'm not feeling too good right now and I don't wanna hurt ya."

The peasants chuckled in response to his complaint, but their furrowed brows and clenched fists remained.

Wiping away dust from his long face, the leader of the group dared to step forward. "There can only be one strong warrior in this faction, and you are threatening my position," he spat, looking back momentarily at the other two Saiyans behind him to gain encouragement. Satisfied, he flashed a mischevious grin. "I may be third-class, but I don't intend on being a 'nobody' for the rest of my life. Leave now, Goku, and we won't have a problem."

Goku let out a hearty laugh, pulling up the waist of his ragged training pants. "Is that all you want?" he queried, one dark brow cocked. "Alright, you can be the faction's warrior guy or whatever. I don't mind letting you."

At the blatant dismissal, the aggressive peasant blanched. " 'You don't mind letting me' ?" he repeated toward the dirt, incredulous. When his eyes darted back up towards his rival, Goku was already turning to leave with an easy saunter. "Wait!" the man shouted, breaking away from his two supporters and hurrying to catch up with the taller Saiyan. "How dare you walk away from me! To think that a moron like you possesses such power is beyond me!"

Stopping in his tracks, Goku looked over his shoulder with a bewildered expression. "I said you could be the warrior," he repeated. "You don't need to call people names." And with that, he tilted his head up to the sky once more and continued on back toward the village.

Having never been so insulted, the angry peasant stuck his finger towards the retreating Saiyan in disgust. "You're a waste of breath, you bastard!" he screamed into the air. "You spend your days training because that's the only thing you're good at! You're so useless that even your parents gave you an _earthling_ name and then abandoned you!"

The words had their intended impact, stopping Goku in his path. Though he did not clench his fists in anger, he could feel the ki within him begin to move. He sighed deeply, pivoting on his heel until he faced his antagonizer. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna defend myself," he warned, face growing serious in the fading sunlight.

The two peasants watching from the sidelines grew concerned, but a withering look from their leader caused them to bow up, puffing their chests out in defiance. "Go ahead and fight then, _bitch_ ," one of them sneered.

Goku narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders, readying himself for a good fight. He breathed deeply, feeling the swell of ki build within him, but before he could make the first move, his vision began to swim, turning the scene before him into a multicolored haze. "You're lucky…" he mumbled before his knees buckled and he came into contact with the hard, packed dirt beneath him.

At the sight of the tall Saiyan falling to the ground, the trio of peasants cheered, throwing their cracked, dry hands into the air in celebration. They began to whoop collectively until a sudden blur streaked across the field and crashed into them, knocking them off balance.

The men cried out as they felt the weight of another muscled body pushing them down and were startled to see a Saiyan who looked remarkably similar to Goku, who was now writhing in pain just a few feet away. The stranger looked just as powerful as their enemy, but one small sign alerted them to the difference.

"He has no tail!" one of the peasants taunted. "He's a filthy half-breed!"

With renewed gusto, the trio leapt to their feet and rushed the half-Saiyan, throwing every once of power into their assault. The group then took to the sky, firing off blasts toward their prey, coloring the sky momentarily before fizzling out.

Below them, Goku blinked repeatedly against the dry air, his bare chest heaving. He rolled over onto his back, casting his weary gaze toward the scene playing out above. Just as his eyes focused, he saw his friend engaged in heated battle. "Turles!" he shouted, though his voice wavered as a surge of pain pulsed from his head.

Distracted, Turles looked toward the sound, only to be hit with thundering force by his attackers, who threw his weakened body toward the ground. He landed harshly into the dirt, sending hot dust and rock flying.

"Turles!" Goku screamed again, this time rising on unsteady feet. He could feel his energy building once more, but this time he had control over the sudden burst of ki. With determination, he grit his teeth and powered up, sending small jolts of electricity racing into the static air.

The atmosphere shifted as the trio of assailants landed, and their eyes widened as they took in the sight of the flickering aura around the taller Saiyan. Whispered murmurs of terror spilled from their lips and it only took one word from Goku to end the battle.

"Run."

The men scattered like insects surprised by the bright light of day.

Relieved, Goku powered down and approached his friend who was still prone in the dirt. "Turles, why did you do that?" he scolded half-heartedly. "You were outnumbered and could've been killed!"

A low moan resounded from Turles' chest as he sat up and dusted himself off. He looked up at his friend, and Goku noticed the hollow gaze echoing in his dark eyes. "I had to help you even at the risk of an ass-kicking," he retorted. "Saiyans like you are the only reason the King leaves the third class alone."

Goku wanted to deny those words, but in that moment, the truth burned as much as the hot sun upon his back. "You hungry?" he asked, sidestepping the tension while helping the other off the ground.

"Nah."

"Aww, Turles don't be like that," Goku encouraged. "Somewhere, somebody has to do something awful just to get a decent meal."

Letting out a hearty laugh, Turles dismissed his friend's sugar-sweet tone. "Yeah, I get it. Now let's get back to the village before your Grandpa Gohan kicks _our_ asses."

And with that, the two roamed the desert, framed by the dying suns, unaware of the trouble brewing miles away.

* * *

In the waning light of day, King Vegeta walked the palace grounds, placing each heavy boot carefully upon the cut grass. In the capital, the Elite were afforded the luxury of vegetation, and the regent of Vegeta-sei was fond of the greenery, though today his mind was focused elsewhere.

As he neared the central prison, the guards greeted him with low bows and murmured salutations, but the King simply waved away such niceties before strolling through the large, slow-moving doors.

Inside, the harsh lighting greeted him with a distant hum, but his ears were tuned into one sound: the ragged breathing of the facility's only convict.

Without much fanfare, the guards brought their monarch to a small cell, and upon inspection through the rather small window of the door, the King found exactly the type of man he was looking for.

The prisoner inside barely lifted his head as his cell door was opened, already expecting his daily bowl of water, but once the strong light filtered in and danced over his green skin, he looked up.

King Vegeta was surprised to see no evidence of animosity in the shackled Namekian. Instead, the alien man chuckled, his deep bravado bouncing off the sleek white walls.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, _Your Highness_?"

The King narrowed his eyes and placed his hands behind his back. "Piccolo, warrior of Namek, I am here to offer you reprieve from your sentence," he announced pragmatically.

Another throaty laugh rang out in the enclosed space. "I am no warrior of Namek," Piccolo spat, giving a tiny fanged smile. "Namek is dead. You made sure of that."

Straightening his posture, the regent of Vegeta-sei eyed his prisoner warily. "Namek was a threat to Lord Frieza and was therefore destroyed by the Saiyans under his control, but Vegeta-sei has since destroyed Frieza," the King explained. "I believe we settled this matter years ago."

Piccolo leaned back against the cool, tiled wall and looked up at the ruler he despised. "And yet, here I sit in your prison," he mused dryly. "Explain that to me."

King Vegeta removed his attention from the man at his feet and leveled his gaze back at the door, which was still half-cocked. Beyond the entrance, several guards waited to defend their sire honorably, should anything go wrong.

"You fought valiantly alongside my people against Frieza's forces, but now you dare protest the class system that is a tradition of Vegeta-sei. That is not only a war crime, but a capital offense."

Silence followed the regent's explanation, but the lull didn't last long. On the ground, Piccolo shifted awkwardly, the shackles around his wrists stark against his heavily-pigmented skin.

"If you believe that Frieza will be the last being to take advantage of your weakening race, then continue on with your heritage," the prisoner sneered. "I will watch you succumb from my cell."

His black eyes were defiant as he spoke, alight with a fire that the monarch of the Saiyan race once admired. But now, the King was terrified of what that determination could mean for his rule. Lately, he had seen too many fires that needed to be put out and their was only so much water to go around….

Before he could retort, the Piccolo continued on, indignant.

"Your son believes as I do, correct?" he questioned, leaning his head against the wall. His once responsive antennae drooped unnaturally. "That the class system was why Frieza came close to completing the Saiyan genocide?"

At the statement, King Vegeta stepped back, having been practiced in keeping his composure. "Are you not happy with the state of the factions?" he retorted. "If you are imprisoned, why does it matter if the subjects of my kingdom are divided by power and class?"

Piccolo didn't react to the query, preferring to keep his gaze focused on the light trickling in from the open doorway. He could hear the shuffling of the guards' feet along the worn flooring.

"If I am without a planet and am forced to reside here, then no, I am not happy living under the rule of a king who purposely makes his people easy prey," the prisoner quipped. "I respected you as a warrior in the past- though I have held my grievances- but now I believe you were lucky to watch Frieza fall. Next time, there will be nowhere to hide."

"It is my intention to strengthen our race, not destroy it!" the King thundered, squeezing his fists tightly. His normally tan skin began to turn a blistering shade of red. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to keep the conversation civil. "I must say that it is quite remarkable to find someone so passionate about the affairs of another race. Have you given my offer anymore thought?"

Piccolo let out a wheezing laugh, which quickly turned into a fit of coughing. "Leave me," he growled. "Your presence has grown irritating."

"I will restate my offer in case you have forgotten the details," King Vegeta declared, speaking over the other. "The class system is crumbling, regardless of what I desire. The people are beginning to see the discrepancies between power with the factions and in order to appease them and strengthen my throne, I wish to create a group of warriors comprised of the finest from every class. They will serve as guardians of the crown and the people."

Though he seemed surprised, Piccolo merely closed his eyes in response. "How admirable of you. Perhaps this ruse will placate the Saiyans for a short amount of time."

"I do not intend on placation or trickery, Master Piccolo," King Vegeta rumbled, gaining the attention of the Namekian once more. "As I have stated, I will enforce the heritage of Vegeta-sei and the crown, and you will help me. You will train the men to be warriors and they shall become the King's _Saiya_."

Silence met the King's heated explanation, and it stretched on for several minutes until the monarch squatted down until his eyes met those of the prisoner's.

"Do you not want me to feel confident enough to give up the regency to my son?" he questioned, grasping Piccolo's textured chin. "If I feel satisfied with the state of the planet, then I will gladly step down. But as long as I am on the throne, you will always find your home on the floor of this cell."

Piccolo let out a frustrated snarl before wrenching away from the King's hold. "I suppose I have no other choice."

A small laugh escaped the King before his sharp features composed themselves and he stood tall. "No, you do not," he assured.

It was not a threat, but a promise.

* * *

The streets of the capital were bare, save for a few less than scrupulous souls that were desperate enough to crawl out of the dark on such a stifling night.

Though she usually tried to avoid the seedier side of the city, Bulma had a sickening feeling about her financial state that just wouldn't go away.

"Damn," she sighed, scowling at the glowing screen in front of her.

Ten credits.

That's all that she had to her name.

Well, that's all she and her father had to _their_ name and if the human had learned anything living in the capital, it was that the Elite weren't exactly keen on the two human scientists being so readily accepted by the crown and living so near.

Imagine if the Briefs family become impoverished and the officials found out! Then she and her father would soon be viewed as little more then third-class despite their intellect and technological prowess.

Times were changing on Vegeta-sei, and Bulma could feel the tension thick in the air. Everything was beginning to boil down to power and wealth, and frankly, she and her father had neither.

Though they both had been working their asses off, it was never enough, and Bulma's many part-time jobs in addition to helping her father weren't cutting it either. It was during these times that she snuck away and engaged in some rather unscrupulous activities….

After thanking the bank teller and walking out into the humid night air, Bulma fluffed her bright shoulder-length hair and smoothed down her tight dress, sighing to herself. Of all the outfits native to Vegeta-sei, only a few styles managed to fit her human curves, and the older she became, the harder it was to find clothes that didn't attract a lot of attention.

Of course, tonight, attention was exactly what she needed.

Her first client was a rather burly man, fresh from training in the athletic district. The tang of sweat clung to him like a second skin and he smiled down at Bulma who was on her knees.

"What about this?" she inquired, trying her best to affect politeness.

"Oh yeah, that is good," the man replied with a devilish grin.

Rising to her feet, Bulma presented the scouter she had just pulled out of her bag. "Excellent choice," she chimed, displaying the object with flare. "It's certified from the PTO era and is retro-fitted with enhanced ki-detecting abilities, just like the models Frieza's men used."

The man nodded at her explanation and took the small machinery into his own hands. "And it is more accurate than the ones handed out to the Saiyan forces?"

"Yes, Sir," Bulma chirped, already feeling her fortune turn around. A few more sales like this and she wouldn't have to worry about her family.

"I will take it! I have a very important job in mind for this little thing…"

"Great! That will be 20,000 credits and-" Bulma had just begun to close the sale when two figures appeared at the mouth of the alleyway. From their bulging physiques, she could tell that they were full-blooded Saiyan, but she had never seen these particular men before.

One was tall, lean, and had long, flowing hair as dark as tar. The other was short and stout with spiked locks that jutted up like a dark flame.

She couldn't make out much of their facial features but by the time she decided to ignore the intrusion, her client had already ran off for fear of getting caught by the capital's guardians.

Frustrated, Bulma whipped her attention back to the two men, but the taller of the two merely pivoted on his heel and began to make his way back to the street. The shorter Saiyan, however, seemed fully invested in watching her, and as the clouds above parted momentarily, the moonlight illuminated a face partially hidden by black fabric.

He looked like a bandit, and all she could see was a bronzed forehead and a set of dark, unforgiving eyes that kept her rooted in place. The man didn't speak, opting instead to shake his head as if in disagreement of her choice of illegal actions.

Before Bulma could open her mouth to defend herself, the small man left, meeting up with his companion who waited patiently just beyond the alley.

Just as she thought that she was out of trouble, the long-haired Saiyan cocked his head toward her. "Do not sell these any longer," he demanded, his face impassive. "To continue would be to doom your future."

And with those instructions, the men left, leaving Bulma in a state of confusion. Despite the heat, she began to shiver, hugging herself. She was still alive and unharmed, but something about the incident unnerved her.

No.

Something about the _men_ disturbed her, especially the shorter one.

She had seen those eyes somewhere before- intelligent, yet reckless.

But where?

Before she could get too wrapped up in paranoia, Bulma packed her bag once more and continued on deeper into the city, searching for her next client.

After all, she had bills to pay, and old habits died hard.

* * *

Goku leaned back against the smooth rock, his gaze fixed on the lavender-tinged twilight. Beside him, Turles fiddled with various twigs.

"I could've handled them," the dark-skinned Saiyan complained, putting a piece of dried root into his mouth and chewing angrily.

"I don't wanna be rude, but you fell out of the sky," Goku teased, watching the fading clouds drift across the horizon, revealing a sea of twinkling stars. "Those guys were jerks, but they were full-blooded, so it's natural that you had some problems…"

Turles sat up quickly and leered at his friend. "Says the guy who passed out," he retorted with a huff.

Frowning, the taller Saiyan cast his eyes down towards his hands. If he focused hard enough, he could feel his ki pulsing through his body. "It's happening more often now," Goku observed. "I don't know how to control it."

Rising to his feet, Turles dusted himself off and offered a hand to his friend. He watched Goku leap up with little effort and chuckled under his breath. "It's your power level," he explained. "It's growing larger every day, but without proper training it will continue to cause problems."

Goku cocked his head with a bewildered expression. "How do you know that's what's happening?"

Deciding that he had enough of nature, Turles shrugged and began to walk back to the village. Behind him, his friend followed, but never encroached on his personal space. "It's been ten years since I was separated from my family, but I still remember what my father taught me."

"Oh that's right, you're dad was a doctor or something," Goku stated, stopping to pick up a half-buried root to snack on.

Turles rolled his eyes and continued walking. " _Scientist_ ," he corrected. "Though he was an earthling, he knew a lot about Saiyan anatomy and the manipulation of ki."

"Ah, I see. Was…. _Is_ your sister that smart too? You know, the one with pretty blue hair?"

Goku was now happily munching on his find, but Turles didn't bother to tell his friend to chew quietly. He was preoccupied with the even pounding of his feet and the suddenly cold chain around his neck. He stopped and pulled out the necklace, watching as the pendant engraved with a strange crest glimmered in the moonlight.

"She was so small the last time I saw her, but she was very smart and such a loudmouth," Turles whispered to himself, unaware that his friend was watching him curiously. "If I could just get into the capital, then maybe I can find them again…"

Behind him, Goku shifted nervously, assessing the reaction of the man he considered as close as a brother. Together they had lived as orphans who had struggled to survive and though Goku knew that his parents were dead, Turles lived every day with the knowledge that his family was still out there somewhere. The only thing preventing him from a reunion was the strict rules of the class system.

"If a third-class is caught in the capital, they're put to death," Goku reminded, hanging his head low. When the half-Saiyan didn't respond, he continued despite the anxiety in his gut. "But we shouldn't give up. If I can get you into the capital, then you can find your family. I'm sure of it."

Tucking his necklace back into his roomy clothes, Turles eyed his friend incredulously. "You and I both know that's a stupid idea, but I'm impressed that you're willing to die for my silly fantasy."

Goku let out a small snort and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You're my… brother," he mumbled before bringing his gaze to stare into Turles' dark eyes. "Besides, when you have nothing, then there's nothing to fear."

The statement caught the half-Saiyan off-guard, but he quickly recovered and shook his shock away. He looked once more at Goku who was framed by the glow of the rising moon and sighed.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Turles questioned, a devilish smile on his bronzed face. "You're really suggesting that we climb the capital wall, aren't you? Unbelievable! Maybe you _are_ a moron."

Goku scrunched his eyebrows together and feigned offense. "Well we can't fly over it without being seen," he fired back, resting his large hands on his hips. "And if I'm such a moron, then what does that make you?"

Turles' grin was brighter than both of Vegeta-sei's suns. "The moron's keeper, I suppose," he declared before clearing his throat. "Do you really think they're still alive and waiting for me?"

"Why wouldn't they be?" Goku asked, his eyes twinkling. "You said that the King liked your dad because he was smart. I'm sure that they are both living the good life, waiting for you to come home."

Turles rolled his eyes at his friend's optimistic tone, but in truth, he was glad to finally have someone reflect the same hope that he kept hidden in his heart. When he looked back toward Goku, he sighed and slapped his forehead.

"Let's go before you give me a reason not to," he grumbled, secretly pleased that no matter what, he would never truly feel alone.

* * *

"Your Majesty, there are foreigners at the gate requesting entrance to the palace."

King Vegeta looked up from his steaming cup of brew and cocked a thick eyebrow. "Strangers requesting entry?" he mulled, stroking his beard. "Send them away promptly. Of all the ridiculous questions, Nappa-"

"Sir," Nappa interrupted, swallowing back his anxiety at having cut off the King. He approached the monarch carefully, holding out a piece of worn parchment. "A letter from the foreigners, Your Majesty."

With deft fingers, King Vegeta took the offering into his tanned hands and carefully unfolded the message. The scrawling that met his gaze gave him pause and his heart began to race. He placed the letter before him on the large wooden table and looked his tall commandant in the eye.

"It cannot be him," the King whispered, lips quivering.

"Who?" Nappa inquired, concerned at seeing the regent of Vegeta-sei so visibly shaken.

"The son of Vegeta-sei has…. returned," King Vegeta explained slowly, gently tracing the parchment before him. His gaze snapped back to the large, bald Saiyan awaiting his command. "Receive our guests, but be sure that _he_ keeps his identity hidden. Kill anyone who sees the Prince's face. No one may know of his homecoming."

Nappa bowed deeply at the waist, his bald head catching the light flickering from the palace's decorative sconces. He flexed his wrists, which resulted in a sickening cracking of his joints. "Yes, Your Majesty. The prince shall remain a ghost to the people."

Dismissing those gathered in the room, the King took a moment to collect himself before making his way over to the large window of his quarters. He watched as the two uninvited guests made their way across the long courtyard, stopping directly in front of the building.

Outside, Nappa noticed the King's watchful gaze and bowed, Raditz following soon after. Another of the palace's guards also made a show of respect, but then the unexpected occurred.

Standing directly beneath the King's window, the Prince removed the scarf obscuring most of his face. The dark fabric drifted to the ground slowly, drawing the attention of the present company.

The trivial guard that Nappa had brought along to greet the guests blanched, his face turning pale and sallow. "It cannot be…" he murmured excitedly before a ki blast ripped through his chest, silencing him forever. The smoking corpse fell over unceremoniously, twitching as it cooled.

Despite the loss of life, Prince Vegeta didn't flinch at the action, keeping his eyes trained on his father.

"You will regret this," the King whispered into the glass before him, closing the heavy curtains of his quarters, which were as crimson as the blood that now stained the dirt just outside his window.

"Vegeta, you have no idea what you have done."


	2. Trigger

In the depths of night, two figures began to ascend the capital wall, each struggling to find grip on the sleek metal.

"Damn, I wish we could fly over this stupid thing," Turles grunted out, looking up towards Goku, who was progressing steadily above him.

A small laugh floated down, almost lost in the wind.

"It's not supposed to be easy," Goku teased, heaving himself up a few more inches. He found a ledge for his hand in a partition between two sheets of old metal. "That's why it's illegal, Turles."

"Well we may not get the chance to be killed for trespassing if we don't even make it up this thing," Turles replied dryly, watching his friend's muscular legs struggle for purchase on the wall. Earlier that evening, they had bought some old elite training suits off a nomad, but it seemed that Goku's attire was a tad too tight.

The full-blooded Saiyan didn't respond, instead investing all his energy into making it up the large wall. Time seemed to drag on as he conquered each inch, sweat dripping from his brow. By the time the top neared, his arms were quivering with exhaustion. Sucking in a deep breath, he looked down towards Turles who wasn't far behind.

"Do you remember how to suppress your ki to avoid being detected?" Goku whispered, hoping his words weren't lost in the gentle night breeze.

The half-breed nodded in response but then cursed himself as his boot slipped for a few harrowing seconds. "Not that I have much ki to begin with," he mumbled, regaining his composure. When he finally quit wallowing in self-pity, he noticed that the climb was nearly over and Goku was leaning over the top of the wall to offer him assistance.

Together, the two heaved Turles' bulky form up, just in time for a much needed rest against the small lip overlooking the capital.

Goku took in several cleansing breaths, focusing on keeping his ki hidden deep within him. With some luck, the capital guardians would rely more heavily on ki sensors than actual foot patrol, making the peasants' trespass much easier. Beside him, Turles was bent over, murmuring to himself about needing more training before a sudden squeal raced passed his lips.

"Are they…" Turles began, pointing at horrific display of dismembered corpses strung up on pikes several feet away.

"….. dead," Goku finished, eyes wide in disbelief. His hands began to shake, but he quickly sat on them in case Turles noticed his cowardice. "I wondered why there wasn't much security," he finished, staring straight ahead.

Next to the macabre sight were several official signs warning against lowborn Saiyans trespassing into the capital, and Turles let out a frustrated wail, only for Goku to slap a hand over his mouth.

"Shh!" the full-blooded Saiyan scolded. "It's ok….. it's ok….." he repeated, seemingly trying to calm himself down as well. When his friend began to breathe more evenly, he released his hold.

"Shit," Turles whispered heatedly, clinging to the other. "What do we do now?"

Goku rubbed his temple and looked over the wall at the glistening lights of the capital. "Now we find your family," he explained, trying his best to conjure up a small smile. "You still up for this?"

Though he struggled, Turles finally grasped onto his resolve and nodded curtly. "It's too late to turn back now, I guess," he declared, gingerly walking past the gruesome display in front of them and toward the sparkling neon lights of the capital.

Seconds later, Goku joined him in awe. "It's beautiful," he whispered.

A few moments of silence passed by before Turles let out the breath he had been holding. "It's only beautiful if you know what to look for."

Goku turned to his friend and offered a cheeky grin. "Then let's get started."

* * *

Among the bustling daily life of the capital residents, Piccolo found himself drowning in a sea of mundane conversations and unnecessary social pleasantries. He rubbed his wrists absentmindedly, running his sharp nails over the pink striations in his skin, not yet used to being free from captivity.

He was happy that his imprisonment was over, but the cost of freedom had been his dignity. Reluctantly, he had agreed to the King's offer, if only for the opportunity to change Vegeta-sei for the better.

Namek was gone, but despite the Saiyans' tendency to be rash and brute, their race was the closest Piccolo had ever come to finding a home among warriors. Now, he just had to find the right kind of warriors to appease the King _and_ secretly support the Prince, should he ever arrive to take the throne.

To complete his duty, the Namekian found himself in the capital's premier tea house, a place owned by a rather peculiar earthling.

"Welcome to Kame House," an older gentleman chimed, saddling up to the small table Piccolo had taken residence at. "What can I get ya today?"

The human was certainly unlike most that dwelled on the Saiyan planet- he was dressed in strange, bright fabrics and wore dark shields over his eyes.

Perhaps he was blind?

"Would you like some tea?" the elder asked once more. "I import the finest teas from Earth as well as several other planets…"

Piccolo shook his head curtly before leaning forward and beckoning the man with a crooked finger. Though startled, the human came closer and raised his bushy gray brows in expectation.

"You are the one known as Merchant Roshi, correct?

"Yep, that's me. What can I do for ya?"

"Then you are very familiar with all the officials of the capital and their offspring," Piccolo observed, lowering his voice. "I am looking for some _special_ citizens. Can you help me?"

At the statement, a wide grin erupted on the merchant's face. He propped his walking stick up on the table and leaned even closer to his guest. "Ah I see," Roshi leered. "What kind of _special_ are you looking for? Busty? Firm and supple? Willing to do anything? Or do you prefer women who don't mind antennae?"

Horrified, Piccolo grabbed the elder by the shirt and yanked him to attention. "I am not looking for women, you lecherous old man," he shouted. "I am looking for young _men_!"

The exclamation was louder than intended and every patron in the business stopped to stare at the outrageous scene.

Piccolo's green skin flushed a light purple before he shoved the merchant away and rose to his feet in a huff.

"Young men," Roshi mused, combing through his long beard. "I know just the way to find many of the capital's finest. Follow me!"

The elder scrambled to grab his stick, then proceeded to disappear further into the tea house, leaving a flustered Piccolo to ward off judgmental stares.

* * *

Walking along the bustling city streets, Bulma tried not to pity herself.

It was hard enough that she was a full-blooded earthling living in the capital, but she was also a woman, which sometimes meant that she was treated like a second-class citizen. If it weren't for her father's status, she would surely have ended up as some Saiyan official's concubine or servant.

Though she had managed to sell one scouter the previous night, it seemed as though all her usual clientele had completely disappeared, and she was certain that the two strange Saiyan men that had stopped her had something to do with it.

Letting out a sigh, she made her way into one of the rounded buildings that housed one of her many part-time jobs, though it was her least favorite.

"What do you want?" a bulky Saiyan man shouted upon seeing her appear in his shop.

Bulma crossed her arms and held her head high. "I'm here for my pay," she declared. "I've sold my quota this month, so you owe me."

Her words elicited a hearty laugh and a wave of a large hand. "You lying bitch," the man sneered. "My canisters of alcohol have disappeared from your quota but I doubt you sold that many. I think you drank them all and now you are here to rob me of my credits!"

"Excuse me, buddy?" Bulma retorted, stalking further into the shop. "I gave you the money! If you were smart enough to count, you would see that the credits are all there!"

Angry, the Saiyan man slammed his hands down on the metal countertop and began to shake. "If I were smart, I would not have hired a _Jidwi_ like you to peddle my wares!" he screamed. "Earthlings, even ones born on this planet, are not to be trusted. You are lucky that your father has such a fine mind or else you would not be allowed in this city. Now get out of my shop, thief, and do not come back!"

The canisters collected along the shelves of the small space shook, teetering precariously, but Bulma could only focus on her employer's accusation.

"But I didn't-"

"GET OUT!"

Frustrated, Bulma pivoted on her heel and grabbed a canister, released the seal, and began to down the beverage.

"What are you doing?" her former employer demanded, coming out from behind the counter to chase her.

Thinking fast, Bulma grabbed two more canisters in her arms and ran out the door, struggling to finish the alcohol. Behind her, the overweight Saiyan man was slowing down.

"Get back here!"

Throwing down the empty containers, Bulma wiped her mouth with a smug grin. "If you think I'm a thief, then I might as well be one!" she shouted before turning to run further into the city. Before long, she had lost the Saiyan man, and she slowed down to a leisurely stroll, murmuring to herself as the alcohol took effect and the part of her mind that scolded her for being so rash began to quiet down.

She started to wobble on her feet, giggling at each passerby and taking in the sights. A few feet ahead, she noticed two Saiyan children using their thin tails to pick the pockets of shoppers and she shouted at them, startling the cubs into running away.

Tipsy, Bulma attempted to give chase, but her feet became tangled up, causing her to smack into an unwitting pedestrian and fall ungracefully.

Two strong arms caught her, pulling her into a hard body that smelled of nature and musk. Looking up, dark eyes shone upon her with concern and for a brief moment, she was speechless.

"Are you ok, miss?" the man asked, his tail waving behind him languidly. His black hair jutted out haphazardly in different directions, but his face held the sharp angles of the elite. He looked nervous, as if he didn't want her to observe him so carefully.

Bulma tried to respond, but her words were slurring together. Instead, she looked deep into his eyes, which were becoming more alluring with each thundering heartbeat….

The strange man shifted her in his arms for a few moments, then a whispered name caught his attention from a nearby alley.

"Goku, hurry up!"

Bulma struggled to focus her gaze on the man's face as he waved to his friend, but when her eyes began to cross, she let out a hearty laugh and clung to her rescuer.

The stranger was startled, but when he attempted to leave, Bulma wouldn't let go, instead wrapping herself around his torso. "You smell good…" she slurred, taking the opportunity to slide her pale fingers into his silky black hair. "You feel good too."

Carefully, the man tried to extract her from his person. "Uh, please get off me, miss," he begged. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"My shoe," Bulma drawled, now pointing to an object a few feet away. She had just noticed that the boot must've flown off during the fall.

"Uh…"

"My shoe!" she shouted again, flinging an arm up into the air.

Embarrassed, the stranger tried to shake her off, becoming more frantic when he saw a group of city guards approaching. He managed to push her off, then stumbled over to her shoe. He picked it up and tossed it over his shoulder with a murmured apology.

Bulma watched her rescuer run away, though her vision was swimming. She was just about to demand her shoe be returned once more when suddenly it fell from the sky, smacking her right in the face.

"Sorry!" a distant voice exclaimed before Bulma's eyes grew heavy and she curled up in the middle of the street, barefoot and shameless.

* * *

The throne room was just as Vegeta remembered it, right down to the ornate marble carvings and the blood-red crest imprinted on the velvet tapestries hanging from the domed ceiling.

Though ten years had passed, he still felt like a small boy coming to bother his father high up on the throne. Only this time, Vegeta had come of age, and the heavily gilded chair stood empty, waiting for _him_.

"Why are you here?"

That voice was also familiar, yet the malice it held was so foreign.

In one fluid motion, Vegeta turned to face his father, and the heavy cape of his royal armor swayed in response.

The King had certainly aged, his once youthful face now gaunt with the beginnings of grey tinging his beard. His eyes were still dark, but where they once held warmth, chill now emanated from their gaze. This was simultaneously the same man who had nearly died defending his son from Frieza, and yet, he was also a stranger.

The Prince didn't reply to the whispered question, instead opting to remain defiantly silent.

King Vegeta shook his head slowly before unclasping his hands from behind his back and making his way towards the throne. "Are you here because you do not trust me?" he inquired. "I find it strange that you ended your exile on no authority."

Letting out a laugh, Vegeta boldly approached the monarch and made no show of respect. "It would be stranger if I did not come, Father," he quipped. "After all, this is _my_ throne room."

His candid statement earned him a heavy sigh from the King, but nothing more. After a few moments of contemplation, King Vegeta settled back into the large chair and propped his leg up. "You act as if I have not taken precautions to protect you," he retorted. "Do you recall how many assassins we killed daily because of you? Do not make the mistake of thinking your exile was for naught. You breathe today because of me."

"And I am grateful, _Your Majesty_ ," Vegeta quipped back, standing tall. "But I fail to see how withholding my birthright now that I am grown is protecting me. If anything, you weaken me. Do you wish me dead, Father? Especially now that I am to take my throne?"

The King clenched his jaw before letting out a shuddering breath. "Why you insolent little cub! I will decide when you reclaim your throne, _if_ you become worthy," he spat. "Until then, you are to live as if the prince does not exist."

Pacing back and forth, Vegeta focused only on his freshly-waxed boots on the smooth floor. "And why should I heed the greedy instructions of an old man?" he questioned. "Do you fear that once the people discover my homecoming, that they will be quick to discard you?"

"And how would you plan to inform them, Vegeta?" the King demanded, letting out a chuckle. "Would you go out into the capital and announce your title to the streetgoers? You would look like a raving lunatic! Only I can affirm your royal birth and I have no plans to do so as of yet."

At the statement, the Prince stopped his calculated pace, overcome by reality. He was in line to succeed his father, but he needed the monarch to willingly declare him king. It was such an obvious truth and it began to burn him up from within.

"You do not know what wrath you have invoked by denying me this," Vegeta spat, turning on his heel to begin the long walk away from the throne. He needed to get away as soon as possible before his impulsivity got the better of him and blood stained his boots.

"And you did not have to watch your brother die because he was weak," the King responded, his voice sounding smaller by the minute. "Think of me what you will, but I would rather invoke your wrath than watch you swallowed whole by those who will try to overcome you."

Vegeta refused to reply, too overcome by memories of a time that still haunted his youth- an ashen face, trickling with blood, and a father who was wracked with grief.

Quietly, he suppressed both rage and sorrow before leaving his father's presence.

* * *

Goku had offered to ask the residents of the capital about Turles' family necklace, and though the half-breed was hesitant, he ultimately agreed to let his friend help.

In reality, Turles' sun-kissed skin made him stand out amongst the privilege of the capital, so he had kept to the shadows despite his growing resentment.

Since Goku was at least paler and more apt to be polite, the two had agreed that he was the better choice to investigate the origins of the necklace.

Turles had tried to stay out of the way, but curiosity had proved too much for him. While Goku slept in a makeshift shelter on the edge of the forest, the half-breed had come to find himself outside a large building in the heart of the city. He had overheard that most of the youth frequented this place looking for a good time and he hoped that perhaps he would find evidence of his sister there.

The night was framed in a neon haze, and Turles watched patrons gossip and preen before going into the tavern.

As the crowd began to shuffle forward, a woman stumbled, lashing out to hold onto a Saiyan who struggled to hold her up.

"Sorry!" the woman exclaimed with a giggle. "I'm kind of buzzed."

As she righted herself and dusted off her dress, a flash of silver caught Turles' eye and he felt his heart stop.

In the small hands of the strange woman was a copy of the very necklace Turles wore around his neck- the necklace gifted to him by his father. It was then that the half-breed took note of the woman and the striking blue hue of her hair as it reflected the strong moonlight.

His breath left him as he watched her request entry to the tavern, and when the guards let her through, he rushed to the front, only to be pushed back.

"Your pass?" a bouncer demanded of him while looking him over with a curious eye. "Which family line do you belong to?"

Turles tried to form coherent words, but speech failed him as he reached out for the sister he had lost so many years ago, only to see her slip away.

* * *

Of all the places to conduct business, Bulma favored the tavern the elites referred to as _Dre'ek_. It boasted a strong patronage from the younger population of the city, who were apt to be interested in either her technological prowess or the gossip she came by honestly because of her father's profession.

She had tried peddling scouters there before with mild success, but seeing as most of her currency-making schemes were falling flat for various reasons, she had decided against working on this particular night. That and she had a killer migraine from her earlier escapade with her former employer's alcohol.

Wincing, she remembered waking up on the dirt road like a drowned street rat, and cursed herself for the thousandth time that night. What would her father say when he finally heard word of her antics? She couldn't stand to go home now and face him. Instead, she casually roamed the tavern, watching the capital citizens mingle and dance. If anything, the nightlife was a good escape from reality, providing entertaining sights and good company.

Just as Bulma settled by the bar, a cacophony of cheers erupted near the main entrance. A chorus of swooning soon followed, which signaled the entrance of one the first-class' finest young warriors.

Broly was accompanied by several other Saiyans, who all sauntered in confidently, dressed in armor that Bulma would've had to sell several dozen scouters just to touch. As usual, his wild hair was slightly restrained by the golden ringlet resting atop his head. The Saiyan bachelor flashed a smile, causing many of the females in the room to giggle.

Rolling her eyes, Bulma turned her attention back to the bar keep, only to be interrupted once more by another wave of murmuring. She craned her neck just in time to catch sight of Trunks, another eligible Saiyan man. Though a half-breed, his loyalty to the crown and aristocratic family earned him a decent place in the first-class faction.

She had to admit that he was good-looking with his sharp features, icy blue eyes, and long, flowing hair that looked like lavender silk. But at seventeen, he was fairly young and impulsive, using his family's name to fulfill his childish wants.

Certain that she didn't want to stick around to watch the two rivals exchange faux niceties, Bulma finally ordered a water and made her way towards the back of the building.

Occasionally, the owner would throw old cybernetic parts in his storeroom and she was allowed to pick through the leftovers for anything useful. Tonight, she would just grab a sack full of some things, stash it somewhere, and enjoy the rest of her outing…

The storeroom was dark and musty, but Bulma had grown used to both sensations. Pulling out a small light stick, she got to work rummaging through the bins and found several things right away, securing the objects in the bag on her hip. Within a few minutes, she became so satisfied with her finds that she began to sing to herself, shamelessly squealing out the high notes of her favorite songs.

"Quiet, woman," a deep voice growled from somewhere to her left.

Startled, Bulma whipped around, holding out her small source of light. Nothing unusual caught her eye, causing her great confusion. Carefully, she approached the corner of the room, only to find metal containers stacked to the ceiling.

"That's weird," she whispered, brows furrowed. "I could've sworn I heard a voice…"

"You did."

This time the voice came directly from behind her and she jumped as a large hand clamped over her mouth. It tasted of salt and she gagged at the sensation.

Next, hot breath assaulted her ear as the intruder spoke again in a low timbre. "I cannot rest with your torturous screeching invading my space," the strange man explained. He was so close that Bulma could feel his full lips brush across her neck and smell the sweet twang of his breath. Her pulse began to race. "If you value your life, _leave_."

Finished with his instructions, the intruder released her and Bulma stumbled forward, nearly falling over a crate. She righted herself and tried to locate the man, but it was too dark to properly identify him. Other than his intimate contact and the heady musk in the air, she would've thought she was completely alone.

"Do you sleep in here or something?" she inquired, backing up towards the door. It wasn't often someone was homeless in the capital, but it did happen on rare occasion. Perhaps a vagrant man had found his way into the back of the tavern?

The stranger did not answer; instead, a creeping silence settled over the room and Bulma took the opportunity to make a run for the door. This time, however, she actually tripped over a container as she turned, sending her crashing to the ground and the light stick flew out of her hand.

The soft glow raced through the air and briefly illuminated the small space. A labored gasp flew from Bulma's lips as she recognized the silhouette.

It was undoubtedly one of the men who had put a stop to her scouter sale the night prior- the Saiyan with the flame atop his head and the sinfully dark eyes.

Before she could react to this new information, a scream from somewhere in the tavern filtered into the storeroom. Without a second thought, Bulma stumbled out, running down the hall until she found the source of the cacophony. A large crowd had gathered in the center of the main room and she pushed her way through the mass of bodies to get a better view of the situation.

On the ground was a tanned Saiyan man with his face to the floor while another patron crushed his head with a heavy boot. Bulma immediately recognized the antagonizer as one of Broly's entourage, though she couldn't place his name.

All around, people were shouting encouragements as the two men squared off, and this only exhilarated the dominant Saiyan, who pressed his foot down harder until the darker-skinned man cried out in agony.

"Look what I found," Broly's man sneered. "Not only do I think this _half-breed_ snuck in here, but by his looks, I would guess that he is trespassing on capital grounds as well."

An audible gasp swept through the room before Trunks stepped forward to silence the crowd with outstretched hands. "What makes you think that?" he questioned, watching the half-breed on the ground carefully.

Broly's friend pointed a finger at his prey and laughed. "Just look at how dirty he is!" he exclaimed, looking the crowd over for assurance. "Also, what kind of hairstyle is that? Looks like something a third-class dirt eater would have."

Laughter erupted from the gathered audience and Bulma watched in horror as the attacker leaned forward, increasing the pressure on the half-breed's head. The poor man screamed, his skin flushing an unholy shade of red.

"Enough!" Trunks demanded, funneling a bright surge of ki into his hand. "Just let him go and we can continue on with our night."

Broly's friend paused, brought his foot up in defiance and began to lower it quickly when a deep voice bellowed out.

"That is enough!" Broly shouted, sparks dancing along his skin. The circlet resting atop his forehead began to glow. "Let the peasant go."

His demands were heeded and the half-breed was released from his crushing hold to rise on unsteady legs. His eyes were crazed as he scanned the crowd before stopping on singular point- Bulma.

Her breath caught in her chest as his dark eyes met hers and she felt that she had known those eyes before, but in a different person.

Before she could respond, the man turned and ran, but not before she saw the beginnings of crystal tears threatening to fall down his filthy skin.

* * *

It was a mistake to think that his father would so readily accept him, but part of Vegeta had grown up believing the lies that Raditz was so eager to accept. Lies that proposed that the King had sent his only son away to "preserve" him and ensure that it was safe for him to take the throne, but Vegeta was now aware of the stark reality.

He was nothing more than a puppet that would be bent to his father's will for as long as the monarch needed him. By keeping him hidden for so long, the people never grew to know or love their prince, leaving him powerless.

In the cool night air, Vegeta walked the emptying city streets, nursing a bottle of wine that he found in the tavern's store room. After the annoying human woman had interrupted his sleep, he made his way outside, freely roaming around without a single care.

Ah, the woman.

His tail bristled at the thought of her.

She was a presumptuous little thing, sneaking into the tavern to steal machine parts. Surely she _was_ the same woman he and Raditz had stopped from selling black market scouters the previous night- her cloying scent was certainly the same. Had he been in a better mood, he would've enjoyed intimidating her, but in reality, he just wanted his rest.

Vegeta sighed in frustration once more, looking up at the darkened sky.

To the people of the capital, he was nothing more than a stranger.

It was a demeaning concept.

Taking one final swig of his tart wine, he tossed the bottle to the wayside and approached the beginnings of the palace grounds. Though his father had extended his generosity and prepared quarters for he and Raditz, Vegeta had wanted nothing to do with it.

He merely wanted some fresh air and some numbing alcohol, but he knew that Raditz was most likely beside himself trying to locate the wayward prince, so he decided to return to the palace.

Vegeta managed to make it to the edge of the small forest surrounding the palace gates when he heard an odd sound emanating from a nearby bush. Curious, he began to search for the source when a large hand pulled him back and angrily spun him around.

The Prince's unfocused gaze came to rest on the stern face of Nappa.

"Your Majesty," the commandant huffed out, tightening his grip on Vegeta's shoulders. "How dare you run away from the crown's generosity! Raditz could not find you and had to beg for your father's assistance!"

"Nappa," the Prince growled, wrenching away from the larger Saiyan's hold. "You shall not touch me in such a manner!"

"Excuse me, my Prince, but I shall do whatever is necessary to-"

Nappa's rebuttal was interrupted by a loud gasp from the bush behind Vegeta.

A split second later a whispered "shit" could be heard from the same area, prompting Nappa to immediately investigate. He thrust his hands into the vegetation and brought out a squirmimg Saiyan who looked equal parts terrified and annoyed.

"What is your name?" Nappa demanded, hoisting the intruder high into the air.

Vegeta sighed and rubbed his temple, already feeling rather languid due to his earlier wine. "Let him go," he drawled, already turning to walk towards the gate.

"I-I'm sorry…. _Your Highness_?" the trapped Saiyan finished his statement as a question despite Nappa's strangling hold.

Upon hearing his title, Vegeta stopped dead in his tracks. He knew what those two words meant for the fate of the man, and had he not been slightly intoxicated, he wouldn't have cared. But after the tense meeting with his father, it became apparent that he had no connection to _his_ people and he could not let that continue if he ever wanted to supplant the King's reign.

"Let him go," Vegeta demanded once more, his rough voice cutting through the night air. He heard Nappa sigh deeply behind him.

"I cannot," the commandant replied. "He must be killed."

"It is an order," Vegeta tried, clenching his fists.

"I have orders from the King."

Trying to control his shaking hands, Vegeta grit his teeth. He knew that there was nothing a faceless, powerless prince could do except stand by and watch.

Well, maybe there was one thing.

Exhaling into the gentle breeze, Vegeta made one final attempt at asserting some form of power. "Then at least give him a head start."

Nappa grunted out an approval and dropped his captive.

Seconds later, the sound of slapping feet drowned out the furious beating of Vegeta's heart.

It was victory, but it was hollow.


	3. Prevent

Turles ran for his life, gasping for breath as his boots pounded the packed dirt.

Summoning the strength to fly, he clumsily ascended above the tree tops, searching for the campsite he and Goku had prepared earlier that day. He spotted the makeshift shelter and the sleeping Saiyan inside it and quickly dove to the ground. Behind him, the air whistled, announcing the close proximity of his pursuer, who was steadily gaining ground on him.

With thundering force, Turles threw himself to the dirt and screamed to capture his friend's attention. Goku rustled in his slumber, but did not rouse immediately, leaving Turles to defend himself for the time being. He rose to his feet and stood his ground, pushing his ki to the surface where it bubbled up with renewed gusto.

A few feet away, the bulky Saiyan who had been chasing him landed, causing the earth to quake. The man smiled, the corners of his thinly mustached mouth drawing up in a disturbing manner.

It was clear now that Turles had committed some sort of grievance and that he would pay dearly or his mistake. He should've cursed himself for sneaking away to find his sister, but though he now faced death, he couldn't bring himself to regret seeing her face.

Despite his anxiety, he smiled, picturing her soft skin crowned with hair the color of a vibrant ocean.

* * *

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Dr. Briefs slammed his hand down upon his desk, cursing the blueprint he was working on.

For months he had been trying to simplify plans for an improved irrigation system for the lower factions, but since he no longer had access to royal funding, the project was crawling along painfully slow. It seemed that the human scientist had played his role in the defeat of Frieza and now the King no longer needed him, though his family line was allowed to reside in the capital.

Well, all of his line except for one in particular…

With a sigh, the doctor pushed away from his work and walked through his modest house, noting that his daughter hadn't made it home yet despite the late hour. Though it concerned him, she was a grown woman and often stayed out late, mingling with other earthlings she found or selling the scouters she thought he didn't know about.

He had mentioned her illegal activities once, but that had resulted in her pointing out their precarious situation and though he knew their fall from favor with the royal family couldn't have been helped, he still felt like a terrible father. So, despite his anxiety, he let her continue on trying to care for them, because he knew his fiery daughter and practicality coursed through her veins rather than blood.

The sky was twinkling with stars when the doctor finally stepped outside. The humid night air was stifling, but he leaned up against the side of the building and took a final drag from his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and smashing the glowing cherry with his shoe.

He stood in silence for quite a while, thinking over his memories and wondering what he could've done to change his fortune. The sky was beginning to glow as he finished his thoughts, and the twin suns were barely peeking over the horizon in surprise. The view was spectacular in its purity, but it quickly became tainted as three figures invaded the picturesque hues of dawn.

Startled, Dr. Briefs watched as the men fought in the distance, their mid-air battle becoming increasingly more deadly. He squinted his eyes, only to widen them once more in shock as he recognized one of the participants- the huge muscled form of the King's commandant, Nappa, was hard to forget.

The large Saiyan was besting his opponents and the doctor watched mutely as Nappa delivered a blow that sent both smaller men hurtling towards the forest and surely to their death.

Furious, Dr. Briefs rushed inside his home and grabbed a bag of instruments before stopping to record a message for his daughter, should she come home before he was finished attending to the two strangers in distress.

 _Bulma, I went to help a few men in need. Will be back later. Don't worry about your old father too much. Love you, dearest._

* * *

Raditz found his prince sitting near the palace gates, covered in sweat and trembling.

Consumed by anger, Vegeta didn't care that he was discovered in such a state, only offering up a simple grunt upon seeing his guardian approach him.

"My Prince!" Raditz whispered heatedly, yanking his charge to his feet. "I thought for certain that an assassin had finally gotten to you!" The long-haired Saiyan was panting as he spoke, his eyes wild and unfocused while he scanned the prince over repeatedly. "Are you ok? I asked your father to help-"

Vegeta scoffed, pulling away harshly. "Why does everyone insist on handling me in such a rough manner?" he questioned, leveling an acidic gaze on his guardian. "Does no one hold respect for my title? Or would it be better had my head been delivered to my father by an assassin?"

At the bold statement, Raditz blanched and fell to his knees. "Sire, never speak of such a thing! I was merely distraught at your disappearance…"

"And now?" Vegeta inquired, looking down at the larger Saiyan groveling at his boots. "Now that your pathetic prince is safe, do you feel better?"

Scowling, Raditz rose to his feet and set a stern gaze on the other. " _My_ prince is not pathetic," he growled, locking his dark eyes onto his charge. " _My_ prince is a warrior who was forged in tragedy, yet possesses a strength beyond all compare."

Taken aback, Vegeta tore his attention away from his guardian and stared at the edge of the forest. "If I possess such power and influence, then why are my people sentenced to death just for seeing my face?"

Silence ensued the Prince's question, and Vegeta could hear Raditz's heart beating wildly.

"That is a question for your father, My Liege," the larger Saiyan answered honestly. "And if you ever wish to boldly ask it, I would gladly follow you to death as well."

The statement was filled with such raw truth that Vegeta was compelled to turn around, only to find Raditz's eyes filled with an indescribable emotion that made the Prince's heart stop cold. The guardian was looking at his master with an intense devotion that held Vegeta captive. In all his years, the prince had never once been treated like the king he was destined to be, and yet, in that very moment, Raditz was pledging his life to the royal.

To defy the crown was not only punishable by death, but it would bring dishonor to Raditz's entire family line- past, present, and future. Though Vegeta knew very little about his guardian's family, he was certain that no Saiyan wished such disgrace on their kin.

"Why?" Vegeta managed to ask after a few moments, still staring into Raditz's unwavering gaze. "To die protecting the prince is one thing, but to willingly commit treason-"

"If I may," Raditz interrupted, stepping closer to his charge. He swallowed hard before taking the Prince's hand into his own. "If I am honest, it is not merely loyalty or honor that keeps me indebted to you. It is something that runs far deeper…"

Though he was wearing gloves, Vegeta could feel the heat from the other enveloping his flesh. "I should kill you for admitting such a ridiculous sentiment," he whispered, too surprised to pull away. "If I were not your prince..."

"Then we would be connected in a much different way right now," Raditz teased with a wicked smile, much to the Prince's horror.

But as quickly as the moment came, it passed, and Raditz released his charge's hand, slipping back into his usually stern demeanor.

It took some time for Vegeta to recover, but when he did, he quickly changed the subject, opting to focus on his guardian's purer motives. "Would you defy the King tonight?" the Prince asked, cocking his head.

"Ask anything of me- even stupidity," Raditz assured, a smug grin shattering his earlier air of affection.

Those words were all Vegeta needed to hear, and he took to the sky, leading Raditz towards a battle he knew to be nearby.

* * *

Goku screamed as a ki blast crashed into his back, searing the flesh with white hot intensity. He had taken an offensive stance against his large opponent, fearing that the hulking form of the other would be too hard to defend against. His plan had allowed him to successfully hold his own for quite sometime, but their was one problem- Turles.

Turles was by no means a weakling, but his ki was nowhere as advanced as a full-blooded Saiyan, making it nearly impossible to wage offensive battle. Frustrated, the half-breed had decided to take it upon himself to fight their assailant hand-to-hand and it had yielded disastrous results. Their opponent was simply too big and by the time Goku had woken up at their campsite, Turles was already in dire shape.

Bruises were beginning to blossom along his tanned skin and one eye was already swollen shut. Still, the half-breed refused to give up and Goku was in awe. He had never seen such determination sparking in his friend's eyes.

Together, the two held off their attacker long enough to flee to the air, but Goku's concern for Turles had proved distracting, and now he was plummeting to the ground while his back was torn wide open. He could feel the ragged edges of the wound tearing as he sailed through the air haphazardly. Seconds later, Turles joined him, and the two Saiyans smacked into the forest floor, letting out piercing screams of agony.

Regaining his strength, Goku stumbled to his feet and began to drag his barely conscious friend further into the thicket of trees, trying his best to ignore crippling pain and the putrid smell of singed flesh. "Focus, Turles," he whispered, adjusting his grip on the other's arm. "Remember how to lower your ki? Can you do that for me?"

A labored grunt was all Goku got in response, and he pulled Turles into some nearby brush, hoping that their attacker would lose their trail. His efforts were in vain, however, as the huge Saiyan man quickly caught up with his prey and yanked both of the peasants out of hiding by their feet.

Immediately, Goku pushed Turles out of the way and engaged in battle, focusing on landing as many precise hits as possible. As time wore on, he became more successful, gaining ground as his opponent began to waver. He powered up once more, pushing his limits as energy danced along his skin, but a violent cough from Turles momentarily distracted him. Mere seconds later, a fist collided with his skull, sending Goku to the ground.

Blackness consumed his vision momentarily and he blinked against the sensation as he cried out, cradling his head. When sight returned to him, he saw Turles crawling toward him with trembling hands.

"Goku…" the half-breed whispered, only to be flipped over onto his back roughly. Standing above him was their large assailant, primed to kill.

"It seems that I will not require ki to finish the job," the man drawled with a satisfied smirk.

Goku tried to rise, only for sparks to invade his vision as his throbbing skull protested. "T-Turles," he stuttered out, trying desperately to summon any strength he had left.

But it was not enough.

Mutely, Goku watched as their attacker reared his large fist back and struck Turles repeatedly with sickening force. Blood began to pour from the half-breed's face, cascading over his quivering lips and onto the dirt below.

"T-Turles… it's ok…"

Goku tried to move once more, but he was now completely immobilized and he could feel his breathing grow shallow. The wound on his back now felt like an annoying sting compared to the overwhelming pounding in his temple. His ears were ringing, but he could still hear the small gurgling that was beginning to emanate from Turles' throat as he was beaten.

The half-breed's head was thrown back, now hanging loosely, as his body was ravaged by their assailant. His dark eyes were cold and hollow, staring right at Goku who struggled to keep his own eyes open. Moments later, Turles was dropped to the ground and their attacker fled the scene quickly, leaving the two peasants barely alive, curled up on the ground.

Tears streamed down Goku's face as he looked upon his only friend just a few feet away. His face was barely recognizable, now just a maimed mass of flesh and blood. When saltwater began to burn his wide eyes, Goku closed them, focusing on the sounds of the dawn coming to life.

His fingers twitched against the night air as he blamed himself for every blow Turles had just received. For every violent cough that tore from his battered chest. For every broken promise.

It was in this state that Goku drifted in and out of consciousness, only aware of the soft whispers of the breeze until he felt the presence of another land near by. The stranger approached and Goku instinctively tensed up, expecting for death to have come back to finish his job.

Much to his surprise, however, the strange presence was actually two different men, and they conversed above him while he was lost to darkness.

"The Prince killed these men," a deep, rough voice remarked. "And that prince has failed his people."

"It seems as though you must now choose another path, Sire," the other man replied.

The two continued their conversation, but Goku couldn't focus on the words, summoning the courage to open his eyes. He was successful for a few brief moments, but the strangers were walking away. One was tall with long flowing hair, and the other was short with several distinguishing features, but Goku could only note one thing- the unusually white gloves on his small hands.

"White," he tried to say, but the word caught in his throat just as darkness finally consumed him whole.

* * *

Running through the forest, Dr. Briefs hurried towards his assumed patients.

Though he knew better than to get involved in the affairs of the crown, he couldn't help but fear that innocent lives were at stake. The monarch of Vegeta-sei had steadily been losing his cordiality for the last decade or so, which was the very reason Bulma was now the doctor's only child.

It had happened so long ago, but the wound was still deep, and the human man tried his best to assuage his guilt by helping those in need, and this night was no different.

As he ran, the air began to thicken deeper into the thicket, and the doctor stopped to catch his breath against a tree, straining to hear any evidence of the strangers he saw fall from the sky.

Only the subtle chirping of nightlife met his ears, so he pushed himself further, the bag on his hip becoming heavier with each step. Finally, he came to a clearing where the air was cool and the metallic tang of blood clung to the dirt.

Dr. Briefs stopped to listen, closing his crinkled eyes to focus all his senses towards his mission. He was rewarded for his effort when a single sound emanated from an area to the left of the clearing.

It was a sickening sound- wet and suckling- but it was a sound he knew well.

The final, cacophonous sound of certain death.

Without so much as a calming breath, the doctor rushed toward the noise only to find two Saiyan men clinging to life. One of them was sitting against a tree, head thrown back towards the sky while he held onto the other. While this man was in rough shape, nothing could ever compare to the victim cradled in his lap. His skin was naturally darker, but even this fact was hard to discern amongst the blood coating his flesh.

Throwing his bag on the ground, the doctor got to work, pulling out various instruments to stabilize his unexpected patients. He immediately began to work on the second man, while the other watched on, life barely flickering in his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, and the human made a mental note to check him for a severe head injury.

"What's your name, my boy?" Dr. Briefs asked the lucid one while tearing a whole in the tightened suit on the other. He needed to get to the collapsed lung immediately.

"Goku," came the raspy reply, drawn-out and slurred.

"And this fellow here?"

"T-Turles….. please help him."

"Well it's nice to meet-" Dr. Briefs trailed off upon finally freeing his patient's chest for inspection.

Resting on the dying man's chest was a silver medallion, caked in blood, yet still shining in the moonlight.

With shaking hands, the doctor gently lifted the object and smeared the surface with his thumb, revealing the Briefs family crest. "Does this belong to him?" he questioned, his voice trembling.

Above him, Goku nodded weakly, his once tired eyes now sparking with realization.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and each moment became pure agony as Dr. Briefs looked upon the child he once raised. Now a grown man, the half-breed was everything his father could've hoped for, but their reunion was bittersweet.

With blood-slicked hands, the doctor gently cradled his son's maimed face and began to cry. Water cascaded down his aging cheeks, falling onto the man below, temporarily washing away torrents of crimson. "Kaka….. Kakarot," Dr. Briefs choked out. "Kakarot, it's me. It's your father. I'm…. here."

The confession barely managed to elicit much more than a fit of coughing in the patient, but it did arouse a fire in the Saiyan watching on. Dr. Briefs felt a hand touch his shoulder and he looked up to find Goku intensely staring at him, saltwater falling from his large dark eyes.

The revelry was interrupted by a murmuring from the half-breed who had dared to open his eyes. Once his gaze landed on his father, Dr. Briefs felt as though his heart would simply stop beating, but then his son was turning his attention away to weakly look up at his friend. The two Saiyans looked at each other for quite sometime, refusing to quit despite their obvious pain.

Finally, the patient spoke. "Go-ku…. I did… it," he whispered. A minute later, he sucked in a wet breath while crimson began to flow out of his mouth and over his swollen, cracked lips. "She's beautiful….. my…. sister…"

Silence overtook the heated moment and Dr. Briefs watched in horror as his son's body slumped and his eyes went hollow. He turned back to his bag of instruments, cursing himself for not acting quicker, but an ungodly wail pierced the night air, distracting him once more.

Goku began to scream his friend's name over and over, clutching the dead Saiyan to his chest as he shook with grief.

In all his years, Dr. Briefs had seen many travesties, but none was ever so potent as the sight of his son's cold gaze watching him idly sit by.

There was nothing he could do.

* * *

The house was empty when Bulma returned home, and though unusual at such a late hour, she was grateful for the reprieve.

The night at the club had turned out to be quite eventful, so she had left after the peasant had been kicked out. She walked the streets for some time, stopping occasionally to get a bite to eat from the merchants who were still open before venturing to the central fountain where she watched the water dance in the moonlight for well over an hour.

She didn't always visit the decorative space, but when she did, she liked to come in the middle of the night despite the risk. It was during these moments that she could remember her childhood the best- a time filled with innocence and wonder. Her mother would walk with her through the city, stopping to point out the fountain and the gardens that once surrounded it.

The kind woman would smile and her expressive eyes would smile as well, and then she would squat down to become eye level with her daughter.

 _Bulma dear, do you think your father would let us have a garden at home?_

After her mother's sudden death, Bulma still came to watch the water, but then a different person would bring her.

He wasn't much older than her, but he appeared to be because of his height and Saiyan blood. She was too young when he left to remember his face, but she could still recall her brother's large hands holding onto hers as they approached the fountain. Though it had been years, the sound of moving water still made her yearn for a simpler time.

Wiping away a stray tear, Bulma had then summoned up the courage to return home, only to find her father's message waiting for her.

With a click of a button, she erased it from the screen and made her way to her bedroom where she flopped down on her bed. She stared at the ceiling, trying to remember one small detail of _his_ face- a dimple, an imperfection, anything- but nothing came to mind.

Sighing, Bulma rolled over onto her side. She needed to get around for bed, but exhaustion overtook her and her pale eyelids began to flutter shut until she was finally lured into a soft slumber.

She dreamt of waterfalls and the cloying smells of nature until a voice began to filter into her thoughts, tearing her partially out of her sleep. The voice became louder, more insistent, until Bulma drowsily sat up in her bed, squinting in the dark. Her head spun, struggling to grasp onto reality until she finally placed the sound- her father was calling out for her from just beyond their front door.

Stumbling to her feet, she rushed outside and nearly fell to her knees at the peculiar sight before her.

Her father was ambling towards their domed house with a large Saiyan man slung around his frame. The man appeared to be unconscious, and her father struggled to drag his body, groaning with each torturous step.

"What are you doing?" Bulma cried out, running to her father's side and helping him lower the Saiyan man to the ground. She watched on, incredulous, as her father turned the stranger over onto his back and she caught sight of the silver piece hanging from his neck.

Lost in the moment, she ran his hands over his bloody chest and tattered clothing, stopping to cradle the necklace that was so similar to her own. Subconsciously, her eyes began to well up with frustrated tears, clouding her vision. "Who is he?" she demanded, fearing and anticipating the answer all at once.

When her father didn't answer immediately, Bulma whipped her head towards him and repeated her question, far more demanding than she intended, but she could feel her heart beating voraciously in her chest.

"Your brother," her father replied, rising to his feet. She noticed that his legs were trembling. "We need to attend to him or he will die."

At his statement, Bulma wiped away her tears and sucked in a deep breath, willing her anxiety away. Like her father, she was more than just a scientist- they both had training in the medical field.

Without hesitation, she began to check her patient's pulse, growing numb as she suppressed the voice within her screaming that something wasn't quite right.

And just as her resolve bubbled to the surface, she finally _looked_ at the man on the ground, taking in his strong features, dark hair, and full lips. A memory pulled at the edges of her mind and she gasped as she placed this man's face.

Bulma knew him- she had drunkenly held onto this man in the street like a fool while begging for her shoe.

Now, in the dead of the night, she held onto him once more, begging him to live.


End file.
